


New Music

by Jaycee (xxjxxc)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Dysfunctional Family, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Metal AU, Tattoos, and a family drama basically, casual attitude toward sex, implied homophobic and slut-shaming parents, its really not specified, just so you know, mild NSFW, sexy fic turned sappy fic, this mostly exists to tell you tattoos are hot, unplanned sequel, yumikuri side pair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-16 23:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14175762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxjxxc/pseuds/Jaycee
Summary: Marco is at the local music bar he frequents when he catches a blond metalhead staring at him, and he's surprisingly up for it (and his sister complains, but she approves), and then his feelings get out of hand.





	1. Track 1

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, this got out of hand. It was just supposed to be some simple, fun flirting at a small bar with live music to self-indulgently add to the Jeanmarco metal AUs. Marco was supposed to be a reserved guy who turns out surprisingly straightforward about finding someone attractive, but now he's... You'll see. I might still make my introvert Marco some other time. This got oddly sexual oddly fast. No actual sex scene, though, but very obviously implied action. 
> 
> I had no title for this. Jean is/is bringing the new music (feelings), alright.
> 
> Implied homophobia and slut-shaming.

As much as Marco and his sister had in common, they didn’t agree much when it came to their tastes in men. In fact, his pansexual sister was currently dating a petite woman by the elegant name of Historia and Ymir couldn’t stop gushing about how long, soft and beautifully blond her hair was. Marco didn’t like blond hair. He didn’t much like long hair either, despite his appreciation for the viking aesthetic some metal bands had going on. Marco liked guys who looked dominant and dangerous, dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes. 

There were plenty of men who suited his preferences at the local music bar he frequented. So yeah, he was surprised when he caught a pair of light brown eyes from across the room, very poorly hidden behind blond locks, and it was the first time in a while that he found himself quite alright with the fact that they were giving him a once-over.

The tattoos. It had to be the tattoos. 

The guy was wearing a Swallow The Sun shirt (big bonus points there too) with the sleeves cut off, exposing his arms with their subtle muscle and unmissable ink. Marco couldn’t tell apart all the images from the distance, but both of the sleeve tattoos looked intricate and interwoven in their own way. One design was a little more delicate, natural shapes and softer transitions, while the other arm had stark contrasts of skin and black ink forming harsh lines. The difference in style wasn’t strange; it was beautiful, and Marco was only pretending indifference when the guy made his way over under the pretense of getting another beer. 

A few moments later and the guy appeared right in front of Marco. 

“Hey,” the blond began, awkward smile pulling on his lips. There was a strap of facial hair framing his jaw that Marco hadn’t noticed before, the neatly kept kind that prideful guys would wear. Under the dim lighting, it was darker than the rest of his dirty blond hair and it looked rough to the touch. The guy put his drink down on the cocktail table that Marco was standing at, trying hard to act casual even though catching someone staring made it quite obvious that there was at least some sort of intention to his actions. Marco didn't miss it either as the other's eyes lingered on various spots of his face, from the freckles on his cheeks to the piercings in his ears. “You’re alone here, too?” 

Huh. Interesting choice of question. 

“No, actually,” Marco replied, naturally feeling practiced kindness straighten out his back and shoulders as it always did when he first met someone. It was an automatic reaction. A drill of politeness. A childhood of his mom lecturing him about the importance of first impressions, appearance and manners. She would hate to know how it helped him approach strangers for less than saintly purposes. Marco always hated the way she wanted him to look proper from dress to posture and Marco hadn’t been obedient as a child, but as a teenager that had become purposeful. “My sister and her girlfriend are somewhere lost in the crowd. Wouldn’t count on them before this band leaves the stage, it’s right up Historia’s ally.”

“Historia is your sister?” the other asked, eyebrows raising slightly in inquiry. As he uncomfortably shifted his weight to the other foot, a lock of all that sleek, straight hair fell over his shoulder, reaching just past it. He wore his hair parted to the side and some of the loose strand covered his eye, so he quickly swept it aside with a nimble hand. 

“The girlfriend,” Marco supplied, the scripted kindness turning into something more real as soon as he saw the honesty in the way the other carried himself. Marco had been unusually cautious since the mess he’d gotten himself into last time, but there was something that told him this guy wasn’t hiding a nasty personality or another relationship. He was nervous. He wasn’t that cunning.

“Ah.” The blond nodded his head, indicating his understanding. He shifted back to his other foot, briefly looking away before facing Marco again. “I’m Jean,” he said, reaching out a hand. Marco grabbed it without a second thought, pleased to find that Jean’s handshake was firmer than his social awkwardness would suggest. 

“Marco.” A smile was exchanged between them as Marco opted to let go of the guarded act and lean on the cocktail table like he had been doing before, casually resting his elbows on the surface. He was somewhat taller than the other at his full height, but now he lazily peered up at Jean and his relaxed posture seemed to ease the other a bit as well. “So you came here on your own?”

“Yeah. I moved recently and I haven’t really found any friends in the area who listen to metal yet. Thought I should go find some because going to concerts alone is only half the fun,” Jean explained, no longer darting his eyes away or hesitating about his words. There was new confidence in his deep amber eyes, a certain assurance that Marco wasn't going to tell him to get lost. Marco smiled. Confidence looked so much better on a man that prominently tattooed. The ink would be impossible to hide, extending onto his hands, and he couldn’t possibly have gotten that done if he was too shy to face social stigma. Marco studied the art as Jean took a sip of his beer, letting his eyes run along the wide variety of images that were mirrored on his upper and lower arm. 

“You got that right,” Marco agreed, glad to see the other respond with a smile. It was charming and Jean seemed like good company now the uncomfortable introductions had passed, and who knows, Marco was open to whatever the outcome of the night might be. Sometimes he didn’t need to know more than ‘looks good’ and ‘not an asshole’ and those boxes were already checked. “Which of today's bands was your favourite so far?” 

“Definitely the second one.” Marco continued to smile and nod as Jean started talking excitedly about the band, a shared taste in music unveiling itself as the minutes passed. It had quickly become easy to talk to each other, any unimportant relevant details falling away in the face of their horrible jokes and random comments landing perfect scores with the other. Music talk moved on to movie talk and Jean felt comfortable enough now to lean on the other end of the table Marco was leaning on. His beer was gone, his head was moving to the music and his stolen glances were a little less careful. 

If only Jean gathered the courage to make a move. 

“Thanks.” Jean smiled, seemingly quite oblivious to Marco’s ulterior motive as his fingertips traced over the tattoo he had complimented. Maybe Jean simply didn’t want to rush things. He couldn’t be that innocent. “Have you got any?” 

“I have a back piece. That’s all,” Marco said, pulling his hand back and paying none too little attention to make sure he brushed over the other’s hand. Marco had a rule that he would never be the first to go beyond light touches, but he could make it exceptionally clear that he wanted Jean to. “Not like you.”

“But you’re thinking about it,” Jean offered, reading well into the first suggestion.

“Lots of thinking, little acting.”

“I recognise that.” Jean shrugged, uncaring about defenses but also unattentive to the atmosphere as he thought back to his old hometown and the times spent there. “I had been thinking about getting a tattoo for years before I finally got the first one done. It seemed like such a big commitment, and then there’s everyone talking about pain. But once I got started, there was no stopping me.” 

“Is that so?” Marco asked, unable to stop a smirk from forming and his voice from lilting. He schooled his expression into control, but Jean had already noticed his reaction and gave him a puzzling look. Marco didn’t mean to take things out of context, but it was so obvious that there was attraction between the two of them that his imagination couldn’t be blamed for wandering off. Marco entertained the idea of Jean having a switch; the thoughts of push and pull and keeping at it until Jean was tired of being careful and just gave him a hard shove against a wall or any nearby surface. Marco liked the sound of that. Marco liked to come up with possible images of Jean and however many tattoos on his body. Marco liked how the look of realisation on Jean’s face morphed into something desirous and mischievous, and any worries about pushing the limit were thrown out the window as Jean’s expression now matched the one Marco tried to will away. Marco couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about his dirty mind if it got Jean to look at him like that. 

“No pain no gain when it comes to tattooing. Or other pastimes of choice,” Jean said, his intentions loud and clear now they were out in the open. They were no longer talking about tattooing at all. Jean followed the curve of the cocktail table and came to stand nearer to Marco, a willing gesture that Marco welcomed and returned before he even really realised it. There was a slight moment in which their height difference was awkward, Marco being accustomed to being the shorter partner, but there was an unmistakable fire that lit within the other and that’s all that mattered. 

“Is that so?” Marco said again, this time softer and lower and with his gaze straight on Jean’s it was a dare more than anything. He came close enough to put a hand on Jean’s bicep and squeezed a little, making no secret of his appreciation for the muscle he found there. Surprise passed over Jean’s expression, a moment of uncertainty at everything suddenly moving so fast, but Marco was up in his breathing space and he wasn’t offering an escape anymore. Marco drew his attention back with a caress to Jean’s jaw, feeling the stubble and humming pleasantly as he imagined feeling that against his face instead, or his chest, or any area Jean decided to descent to. Jean had already made his choice clear and he only confirmed it again by leaning into the touch. He was up for grabs, and grabbing Marco would have done if he weren't suddenly grabbed by the arm and yanked backward. 

“What the--”

“Marco!” Ymir’s voice was booming as she yelled over the uncommon silence of the next band doing a soundcheck, tugging at Marco until he stumbled into her side. “Who’s your new friend?” she chirped, speaking in that tone that said she knew very well that she was interrupting something good and she was overjoyed to be doing so. Marco glared at her with no reserve, but Ymir did not budge and he knew his sister well enough to know that that smirk was not going to let up. Grumbling, he resigned to doing what she wanted. 

“Ymir, this is Jean. Jean, my sister Ymir,” Marco said, waving a disinterested hand between them and sharing a look with Jean that begged for the other to understand the nightmarish force that his sister was. With a faint hope to shake her off, Marco sent another glare to Ymir. “Where’d you leave Historia?”

Ymir showed a proud grin and simply pointed to a spot near Jean, causing both of the others to follow her gaze towards the bar. A small blonde lady walked up to them, her posture proper as she held a tray with four beer in her hands. 

”Took the liberty of getting you boys one more, too,” she spoke, a smile and a voice so sweet that few people ever guessed the occult subgenres she took to. Marco had always thought that his mother’s concept of keeping up appearance was deceptive, but meeting Historia had put it in a whole new perspective. Historia didn’t act or look the way she did for anyone other than herself and yet sometimes Marco couldn’t help but think of her as a sort of living contradiction. She exchanged quick greetings with Jean; an epitome of good manners that his mother would have been more than happy to welcome into the family if only she had been dating him instead of his sister. 

Ymir had thanked him, though, a few days after he came out. Said it got her thinking about what love is until she decided that it was bullshit to feel socially required to bind your feelings to what sex they are aimed towards. 

“Marco.” Ymir spoke somewhere to his left. “You’re staring at him.”

“What?” Marco asked, only starting to register her words as she shoved a beer towards him and he was forced from his thoughts to save his shirt from becoming a sticky, alcoholic mess. “No, I’m not. Just staring at nothing.” 

“Nothing but a very hot blond,” Ymir said flatly, satisfaction in her voice as she looked between Jean and Historia. The two of them were now turned the other way at a safe distance and having a conversation of their own. Thankfully so, Marco thought. He’d rather not have Jean hear what Ymir might come up with. “I’m surprised. Didn’t think you would pick a guy who doesn't look like your type.”

“I'm not that shallow,” Marco protested, heaving a tired sigh as he was met with a no-bullshit look from Ymir. He took a large sip of his beer, needing it to get through his sister being in a Mother Mood. “I have a type, so what? Doesn't mean I can't like anything else. Doesn't mean I can't recognise something good when it's right in front of me.” 

“I approve,” Ymir said decisively, still leveling Marco with that scrutinizing glare, but a small smile took home on her lips. “He looks like less of a douche and you look like you actually like him,” she added, and Marco wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment for Jean or a hate comment for Bertolt, but either way Marco took it as an insult to his ability to make his own choices when it came to men. 

Ymir had never liked Bertolt. Obviously, Marco had disagreed at some point (for all the wrong reasons, Ymir argued), but that changed rather quickly after he found out that there was also some giant blond boy toy that Bertolt had never told him about. It wasn’t even about monogamy; Marco had liked Bertolt, but he hadn’t loved him - but it was about lying and breaking his trust. 

“I wasn’t going to wait for your approval,” Marco stated, irked that his sister didn't have enough faith in him to let him learn from his own mistakes. She’d been meddling with his business more than usual lately, and Marco understood that she didn’t want to see him hurt again, hell, he was more involved with his own business than usual, but it also irritated him. He hoped she’d shut up. He didn’t need to get in a discussion with her about his dating habits, or the absence of what people considered dates, with a potential date a few steps away from them.

“No, you would’ve been in his pants by now--” 

“Ymir!”

“Oh come on, at least with a hand,” Ymir said, the lighthearted tone she claimed that with giving Marco pause. She didn’t sound as mad and judgemental as he’d taken it at first. It was more like she was pointing out that Marco couldn’t deny the facts and really, he couldn’t. Marco hated hiding the truth anyway. “I’m not telling you not to do it,” Ymir continued as a moment of silence stretched on, shaking her head. It was either just to reaffirm her statement, or she couldn’t believe that Marco would think of her like that. “But I’m your big sister and I will be a protective dick about it, alright? I need to know you’re paying attention and avoiding sketchy types. Plus it’s fun to ruin your moment.” 

Ymir smirked again as she added the last part and it effectively lay waste to the seriousness that had settled in the air. She never did like to be the serious adult. Marco had been underage when they moved out (escaped) from their parents’ house. Ymir had no choice but to learn the hard way what it took to live independently and be legally responsible for two. Ymir fought and did great at it. Nevertheless, she had always been and still was as much of a wild card as Marco was. She was still his crazy sister. Ymir may have a steady girlfriend now and she may be the one doing the scolding, but it hadn’t aged her. It was strange to get warned off by someone with only three years over him only to see her get far drunker than he ever did, but Ymir did have a great sense for what to stay away from. 

Once she saw Marco’s softened expression turn hard again, Ymir rushed out something about seeing him at the apartment before she went over to excuse Historia and took off with her in a flash. Marco shook his head, lost for an explanation of his sister’s personality, but he set those thoughts aside as he saw Jean walking towards him with a questioning look. Marco put a smile on his face and let himself relax in the other’s presence. 

“Did she have something to say?” Jean asked, a layer of concern in his voice.

“Nevermind her. It doesn’t matter now,” Marco said, lightly resting his hand on Jean’s forearm as he took another step forward. The contact helped to draw their attention back to where it should be. “I hope Historia didn’t interrogate you.” 

“Not much.” Jean let out a breathy laugh, amused and probably equally as confused as Marco about those two odd women, but then that mischievous gleam from before returned to his eyes and Marco was hooked all over again. “I learned a bit about you, too.” 

“Oh? Like what?” Marco spoke playfully, gaze a leer as he wondered what Jean had heard that he could twist in a way to match that look in his eyes. His thoughts were cut short, breath catching in his throat when there were suddenly two strong hands gripping tightly at his hips and Jean briskly pulled him almost flush against his body. 

“You want to be seen and respected for who you are. It pisses you off when people try to hide things to meet social expectations.” It was the first thing close to a curse Marco had heard from Jean and it made him sound raw, real and intimidating, and Marco nodded in confirmation, shrugging to make it seem he was unaffected. After all, it was true, and there was no issue with Jean knowing. What got Marco on edge was something wholly different. Jean watched his reaction closely, grin only growing wider as he leant in and spoke lowly near Marco’s ear. “And rough treatment really gets you going.”

Marco was not expecting him to say that. Really, Jean scored an A for sensual delivery, but the coiling desire was interrupted due to the shock. 

“She outright told you that?” Marco asked, pulling back a bit to look at Jean, already mad at Historia for the lack of decency. She didn’t get to spill those private details to anyone she pleased. Jean was his to charm and turn to his hand. Especially with Jean, half the fun was getting past his shyness and teasing the beast out. Look at him now. Historia had given him a key for a shortcut to Marco’s wet dreams. 

“She didn’t say it. But I could understand from her story,” Jean said, his confident tone bringing Marco’s focus back to the reality at hand. To the eyes undressing him and the hands still holding him tight. Sweet, sweet reality. “Feeling exposed?”

“Feeling like it’s not her business to expose me like that, but anyway,” Marco answered, pushing the last of the bitterness out of the way before fully slipping back into his tempter mode. He let his hands slide up over Jean’s shoulders and leant closer, even closer to him now than he had been when Ymir so rudely interrupted. “I was hoping you’d find out sooner or later from experience.” 

The corners of Jean’s lips pulled up again and there was an edge to it that let Marco think his efforts were appreciated, something more considerate within the familiar look of want. It was desire, dark and needy the way Marco liked it, but it was not selfish or malicious, and Marco had never really realised that those were there until they were missing. 

“You want to get out of here?” Jean asked, not needing to raise his voice above a whisper with the nonexistent distance between them. Marco stayed quiet for a moment, still looking at Jean’s lips and suddenly aware of how little it would take for them to kiss. The thought crossed his mind that he’d probably get to kiss Jean for hours if he only said a simple yes right now and with that prospect in mind he lifted his gaze back up to Jean’s. 

“Do you have beautiful tattoos?” Marco replied, a grin forming at the rhetorical question. Jean looked amused for someone who should be boosted in the ego, but the effect was there and Jean leant up to Marco’s ear one more time before he led him out of the bar.

“Wait til you see the rest.” 

As it turned out, both of them were seriously tattoo-sexual. 

Marco hadn’t been pushed over forward for that long in a while and he didn’t think anyone had ever bitten at his back quite as much. Come morning, he rolled over to escape the burning sunlight and was instantly reminded of last night by all the aches in his muscles. Marco wasn’t a big cuddler. He’d cuddled Bertolt and he’d cuddled some guys before him, but only after having been with them for a while. Jean, on the other hand, reached for him with a heavy arm the moment he sensed movement beside him. Marco let him. He was pulled into a warm, unreasonably familiar chest and it was comfortable, shielding him from the sun and the chilly air at the same time. He sighed and pried his eyes open, face to face with the wolf tattooed over Jean’s heart. 

“Morning,” Marco said quietly, voice still hoarse with sleep and exertion. Jean jerkily pulled his chest back as if Marco’s breath was a shock of ice on his hot skin. A small groan tore from his throat, a complaint at having to wake up fully. Marco let out a laugh. The frustration was relatable.

Now, it was true that Marco was on the more sexually promiscuous end and his father had once called him a whore, but Marco wasn't as harsh about it as some people liked to presume. The people he slept with for no reason other than sexual desire were still people. They had feelings and everything and Marco could never understand the type that had one night stands and then got mad at their partner for thoughtless, sleepy reactions or still being in their bed by sunrise. Especially when said partner had a messy bed head (of admittedly beautiful long hair that had been a mutual pleasure to pull) and the satisfaction was still radiating off of them. 

“Hey,” Jean eventually responded, drawing back further so he could see Marco, tired eyes squinted against the light. Marco offered an assuring smile, wordlessly letting Jean know not to feel rushed, and Jean returned it before looking around to take in his surroundings. There was plain curiosity in his actions, simple, unadulterated and unconcealed.

Marco really did have something good right in front of him. He recognized that.

Something must have shown on his face when Jean turned back to him, because Jean held his gaze and the question in his eyes turned into a pleased answer. Jean leant down and captured Marco’s bottom lip between his own, giving it a short bite before kissing him properly. There was a tinge of morning breath and a distinct taste of oral sex, but Marco was a lot more relaxed with this particular morning after kiss than he had been with many others. It was slow and gentle in a way that almost made him feel the need to curl into Jean and snuggle up for another hour.

And there were a lot of things strange about that, but the strangest was absolutely that faint pull of emotional desire. And that was new. And when things were new Marco tended to be wary, but he wasn’t, and that, too, was new. 

Ymir was on the couch when Marco and Jean passed through the living room to the bathroom (she wasn’t wearing pants, but it wasn’t like any of them were) and she sent Marco a grin that was so wide and self-satisfied that it almost looked like a new expression, too. Ymir was self-satisfied a lot, though. Her gaze dropped down to the tattoos on Jean’s thighs and, despite knowing that it was a harmless appreciation, Marco subconsciously started walking a little faster. Ymir’s face almost split in two. When Marco came back to the living room, however, Ymir’s expression quickly fell into that judgemental glare. 

“You didn’t join him,” Ymir stated, accusatory. 

“I haven’t asked him yet,” Marco claimed, defensive.

“Asked what?”

“Whether he’s alright with a more frequent thing.” 

“He didn’t seem to have an issue with it fifteen minutes ago.”

It wouldn’t be the first time his sister heard him, or he heard her for that matter, but still Marco felt his face heating up. 

“There’s a difference between one lapse in the morning and multiple.” 

Ymir didn’t answer him, but she kept her glare firmly trained on him. She wasn’t buying it.

“I don’t know if I should do this.” Marco sighed, foregoing further attempts to shut his sister up because he knew it wasn’t going to work out in his favour anyway. Ymir was a great replacement adult in a terrible way. She only needed to look at him to know the truth. 

“You’re having feelings.” 

It was Marco’s turn not to say anything. He hated to admit it, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny either. 

“Don’t you dare kick him out and wash him off.”

“Ymir--”

“Marco, son.” A third voiced joined in, brighter and sweeter, Historia walking out of the kitchen in nothing but panties and a bra. She really did suit well with Ymir, allowing herself to be comfortable in barely anything from the first night she stayed over. They even had a similar tattoo, done before they met each other, too, the kind with chains and beads framing the underside of their breasts. “You make mistakes, but letting Jean go because feelings scare you would be plain stupid.”

“My girl said it,” Ymir agreed, pulling Historia down onto the couch with her. After playfully struggling for a moment, her tone was softer as she turned back to Marco. She was being completely serious, but the teasing was ever in her voice as she repeated the way Historia had called him. “I mean it, son. Tell us how you feel.” 

“I’m not good with words for this kind of--”

“Then show. Stop blocking it and give us a smile or something.” 

As soon as he let it, Marco’s mind went back to the way Jean looked at him and a smile stretched over his lips in no time. Oh help. Damn, he had it bad. So bad. He could actually feel his knees going weak the more he remembered how easy and comfortable everything had been with Jean, especially considering that it was a first meeting. Being around Jean was natural. Marco ran his tongue over his lips as they were suddenly dry. 

“Okay, too much information now.” Ymir’s voice cut through his thoughts, the smirk from before having returned to her face when Marco looked up. At least she agreed that there was a downside to her being able to read him like an open book.

The girls were right. He’d be plain stupid not to try and see where this could lead. 

Marco wasn’t prepared when Jean opened the door to the bathroom just as he was about to knock on the door and Jean was evidently just as startled at him coming out of the blue. Jean showed up only clad in his underwear, and how could he be anything else when that’s all he had on him when going to the bathroom, but Marco was more aware of it now that he basically felt the damp heat coming off of the other’s skin. Jean held a towel to his head with one hand, exposing the length of his torso and the ink on his side, still drying the long locks of his hair, and he looked past Marco for a moment to gather what’s going on.

Marco would never know about the kissy faces and obscene gestures Historia and Ymir were making behind his back.

Marco only knew that Jean had an amused smile on his face when he looked back at him, the joyful glint in his offensively gorgeous eyes changing colour and the towel in his hand falling to the ground as he reached for Marco’s waist. 

“Hey there,” Jean said lowly, and suddenly Marco was being pulled into the bathroom and the door shut loudly behind them and he yelped in surprise, embarrassingly so. It all happened incredibly fast, but it struck Marco that speed was something that he was incredibly accustomed to and he could handle it as long as he didn’t forget to pay attention, and the pressing touch of Jean’s hands running along his body was making quick work of destroying any last doubts. 

Marco found that it was particularly and deliciously impossible to wash Jean off when Jean was right there under the shower with him.


	2. Track 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snippets of Marco and Jean building a relationship together (or just a kiss fest).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, oops? These two got out of hand again? I wasn't planning on a second part and I don't know where his came from. Guess I need to get my tattoo feelings under control. This is so grossly sweet, it might not be your cup of tea if you liked the first part. 
> 
> The Bott parents still aren't cool. Historia's and Jean's could be put in their own categories of flawed. Dysfunctional families and implied (unspecified) addiction.

Marco never truly knew that simply kissing someone could be so good. Sure, it was nice, but his aim was usually for what came after that. There was something about Jean, however, that kept Marco going through new experiences and old experiences in new ways. Marco quickly learned that Jean loved those lazy morning kisses, half asleep and barely aware of a sense of touch. It would lead to more on many occasions (and out of all the things about permitting softness that nobody had ever warned Marco for, the most beautiful surprise was how completely overwhelming sex was when the affections beforehand had already melted your consciousness), but then other times it didn't and Marco was just as satisfied. 

The kisses were slow and as far from aggressive as they possibly could be, but nevertheless the tender caresses got Marco to submit completely. Every inch of him, every spark of energy and strength, all of it would slowly seep out of his control and into Jean’s with the slow presses of lips and tongue. It was more powerful, more potent, in some ways, than the rough game of push and pull that Marco had initially wanted from Jean. He still wanted that from Jean, hell would freeze over if he didn’t, but there was more to it that he was still figuring out. Marco hadn’t dared to admit it yet, but he had a creeping suspicion that it had something to do with him giving Jean the rights to touch more than his body.

Other people had touched his body, but Jean was reaching for a place much deeper.

There were people for whom sex was the hardest part of the relationship. Marco wasn’t one of them. His body would heal. Just from sex, practiced safely and consensually, nothing could happen to him. But it was one night, after Jean had to leave for work and they’d spent most of the day doing basically nothing on the couch and Marco had somehow ended up explaining a few beginnings about his family situation, that he was hit with a wave of fear. That’s when he had thought, for as long as it took until he saw Jean again, that he couldn’t let this go on anymore. He’d been standoffish the next day and Jean had tried to kiss it out of him and it had been both relieving and a cause for more stress, because it was comforting, but it also went straight through his defenses. Marco tried to remember his sister’s words. Don’t let feelings scare you. They were terrifying, though, but Jean seemed to know that.

Jean hadn’t pressed for more information. Instead, once he saw how affected Marco was and put the pieces together, he’d started talking about his own family. It had been the start of something changing between them. Their stories slowly unfolded and the unspoken understandings suddenly made more sense, and lazy morning after kisses that consumed all that Marco had were no longer shocking. He knew what Jean’s gentle kisses did to him. It wasn’t like the rough ones, when he only needed to be physically at ease, but by accepting them he was learning to be emotionally at ease. He was finally processing what he felt, instead of shoving it into a corner and pretending it didn’t exist. It was ironical, then, that whenever Jean sealed his lips with the slow caress of his own, Marco felt the whole world fall away until it was only the two of them left. 

Hands steadily traced up along his sides, going back down along their own paths as Jean wasn’t yet willing to let the moment go. Marco wriggled under him, a silent demand for those hands to explore a little faster that wasn’t entirely silent when a groan escaped him. Jean’s hands were warm, as was the rest of him, and Marco couldn’t help but press closer to feel more skin against his skin. Both of them naked as the day they were born, Marco could feel everything of his lover and he wanted all of it. Jean was so damn beautiful. Behind his closed eyelids, Marco could picture every nook, rise and fall on his body, every piece of art inked into his skin, and Marco was pushing at Jean’s shoulders just to put some distance between them so he could look. 

Jean did draw back, but it was barely far enough for them to breathe and open their eyes halfway. Heavy gazes sought each other regardlessly, holding still as best as they could with their heaving chests. It lasted for a while, or maybe it was a second that seemed to drag on as Marco drowned in the perfect shade of amber eyes, until Jean slightly shook his head and leant down to resume his languid kisses. He whispered a single word against Marco’s lips, barely distinct from their panting breaths. 

“No.”

Marco wasn’t sure when Jean started having this power over him, the one where he barely put any effort into stripping Marco of the energy to protest (or the will to, even when Marco could swear he wanted to - Marco didn’t understand) and still succeeded at it, but it seemed to be getting more and more effective as the days went on. Marco wasn’t going to fight it. He couldn’t if he tried, already too late, his arms coming up but proving strengthless, and there was no reason to fight something he enjoyed. It had been established from the beginning that Marco liked to be pinned down to the bed, and if Jean could do so without any force, that was another new dimension to discover.

There were always vague ideas playing around in Marco’s mind as Jean’s lips moved softly over his. Memories of other times when they’d kissed or quiet desires for kisses in the future. Thoughts of much later and still kissing Jean like this, still feeling like it was a freefall into a change for the better. It was these moments when he wanted Jean to know everything and when he wanted to know whether this relationship was an official and exclusive one yet. He wanted it to be. He wanted to tell everyone, too, because Marco had found something incredible with Jean. The thoughts were always pleasant, warm and hopeful, and the buzz only served to let him sink deeper into the sweet embrace.

\---xxx---

“You look amazing,” Jean whispered to Marco, drawing closer and wrapping his arms around the other from the back. Marco stood in front of the full body mirror in their bedroom, still in his underwear after a shower although he was supposed to be getting dressed, and Jean locked eyes with him through the reflection.

“I do,” Marco agreed, but it didn’t sound like a conceited answer. The smallest smile pulled on his lips and his words were more like a surprised confirmation, quiet and breathy because Marco still found it hard to believe that he’d actually gone and crossed the line. It wasn’t that Marco had ever lacked confidence about the way he looked, and he had always done with his body whatever the hell he wanted, got it pierced, tattooed and thoroughly fucked, but Marco had been cautious about the visibility of what he adorned himself with. There was a small fear in the back of his mind clinging to the idea that people would reject him otherwise, trembling as his parents’ harsh words resounded in his memory. But he was getting past that stubborn voice, his own stubborn will so much louder, more so with each passing day. Jean smiled softly, pressing a careful kiss above the new tattoo that wrapped around the back of his boyfriend’s neck. 

A full moon rested on the center of Marco’s nape, its waxing and waning phases on either side until the smallest forms came around the curve just far enough to be visible from up front. It was subtle, but it was a loud and obvious rejection of what his parents had wanted him to look like. Especially Marco’s mother had been opposed to any kind of body art Marco had shown interest in, but he’d had a large back piece hidden under his shirt for years, and now Jean was there to watch Marco tear away the mental grasp she had on him and grow to express himself truly in all the ways he wanted. It was a beautiful development to witness, both of Marco’s mind and of his body, and for the moments in between when Marco needed a hug, Jean would be there to offer a big one and act like he didn’t notice Marco push and mumble about being an adult every other time. 

An adult with scars, Jean had said, and it didn’t make him any less independant to be comforted sometimes. 

It wasn’t the first new tattoo Marco had gotten since he met Jean, but it was an important and symbolic one in many ways. There was a large hawk on Marco’s chest, body on his sternum and wings under his collarbones: freedom and victory. He had several Celtic armbands on both arms: strength and perseverance. Most recently, he added the moons on his neck: change and renewal, and on top of that, it was also an identical match to the ink on Jean’s neck. Marco had been on both sides of the argument when deciding whether or not to do it; he loved how they looked on Jean, he was very much into the idea of a mark of claim, Jean thought they would suit perfectly with the tree reaching for the sky on Marco’s back, but the infamous standpoint of ‘what if the relationship ends badly’ was valid as well. Nevertheless, Marco had decided to do it. Now, as Jean looked at the still mildly irritated skin, the amount of meaning he knew it held was almost overwhelming. 

Marco turned in his hold and smiled fondly before kissing him, hands resting gently on Jean’s hips. For over a year since the start of their relationship, Marco had never kissed him anything like this. Marco had been rough, could still be rough, and Jean loved nothing more than the endless power that Marco made him fight before letting him take full control, but there was something inexplicable about these kinds of kisses that was so much more intense. This was something that had developed between them; calm, but a raging storm with how genuine and open it was. It was no longer an offer of body alone, but one of body and soul alike. Jean didn’t think the relationship was going to end badly. The involvement of emotions had been absolutely accidental, but it was quick and undeniable and it had rooted them in the same earth so firmly that nobody could pull one out without the other following suit. In fact, Jean didn’t think their roots were separated individually anymore, for as much as he’d been a shoulder for Marco to lean on the past years, Marco had helped him through some of the toughest times of his life as well. 

Jean hadn’t thought of himself as a marriage type of guy, but he’d marry Marco a thousand times over. 

“GROSS!” A shout startled the two lovers apart, heads turning to the doorway where Ymir stood, smirk evil, with an exhausted-looking Historia beside her. They’d let themselves in and Jean and Marco hadn’t even heard a thing. “You know, if you two would rather fuck than go to the family reunion, that’s fine with me. I don’t want to go there. I’ll go home right now.”

It was a Christmas dinner and there really wasn't going to be anyone other than the four of them, Marco and Ymir’s parents and Historia’s mother, but it was a hated yearly event. Mostly it was Marco and Historia dragging everyone there, no matter how many insults had flown over the table the year before. Ymir and Jean were the type to cut ties, but Historia and her mother talked about the impacts of fathers / husbands leaving permanently and Marco talked about proving his parents wrong. There were some grains of improvement in the situation, Jean would admit. He’d nearly consider calling his own mother, but she was probably somewhere in rehab again. Even his father didn’t know nowadays.

“You’ll cause a scene with these,” Historia said to Marco as she walked up to him, reaching up to trace a finger under the moon phases. She looked closely and nodded in approval as she saw the tattoo for the first time, although the girls had known he was going to go ahead with it. Even in her high heels she looked tiny next to Marco. “Jean, you should tie your hair back. Yours can be hard to see sometimes with your hair hanging over them.” 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Jean assured, grin forming as he thought of the hairstyle going with the semi formal shirt he’d wear. He’d look great and Marco’s parents would hate it. 

Ymir complained some more about going to the dinner when her girlfriend returned to her side, but everyone knew she was going to go and pretend to be interested either way. They were a dysfunctional bunch, but Jean had never really known anything different anyway, and he sure as hell felt at home in this mess. The girls cared about Marco and him and supported them, making for more of a family than anyone else had. Their teasing was annoying, but it was part of them and he’d miss it if they somehow were to stop. Jean had a warm nest here with Marco, a cozy apartment in a good neighbourhood and they both travelled no more than 30 minutes to get to work, and he was content. There was still room for things to get better, probably there always would be, but Jean found himself no longer desperate to get away from where he was at now. Things were good. Living with Marco was a dream they had turned into reality. Loving Marco was Jean’s most important treasure.


End file.
